


No Privacy

by IronSea



Category: Stand Still Stay Silent
Genre: M/M, Masturbation, camp life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-10
Updated: 2015-05-31
Packaged: 2018-03-29 20:04:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3908875
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IronSea/pseuds/IronSea
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emil finds that some problems have to be dealt with - preferably without an audience.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Part of me feels just a liiittle bad, because as far as I can tell all of the fanworks posted for SSSS have been pretty innocent. Well...someone has to get the ball rolling, right? ...Right? Guys? Hello...?
> 
> Erm...anyway, it's not too dirty, but there may be more to come. In order to stay in-character it seems that a physical relationship between these too would happen gradually... So please enjoy this little exploration into one of the less talked about problems of young people with no privacy, haha.

As the sounds of sleep surrounded him from all sides, Emil fought the urge to groan, kick, or otherwise do anything to vent his frustration – in the metal confines of the cat-tank every twitch seemed to produce an echo. He had struggled to fall asleep, succeeded for a while, but had woken up when someone returned from a bathroom break and been lying here ever since. Emil did not often have trouble sleeping, as most days left him too exhausted to even give it a second thought. But today had mostly been spent driving and caring for equipment, and something else had managed to work its way into his mind. Emil squeezes his thighs together and wills the feeling away, but feels a wave of heat sweep through his body instead. He throws off his blankets.

But even as he restrains himself for the sake of his comrades, the young Swede is sure that he will not be able to contain himself for much longer. The soft, steady breathing of Tuuri and Mikkel's droning snores are agitating in the face of his own insomnia. As Sigrun sighs contentedly in her sleep, Emil resolutely makes his choice: he needed some fresh air.

He squints over the edge of his bunk, where Mikkel and Reynir are stretched side-by-side. As the tallest men of the group neither could fit in the bunks, so Emil only felt the tiniest bit guilty for his own comfort. Even that guilt vanished as the cleanser ruefully notes how soundly both of them are sleeping.

The light of the heater reveals the thin gap between them; the odds of an undetected exit are slim, but he has to try. So, moving in tiny increments to limit the squeaking of his bunk, Emil pulls himself to his feet and steps down between the two sleeping floormates. Just as he lifts his weight fully from the bunk it lets out a sharp squeak; the noise may as well have been a shriek. Emil freezes, but nobody moves – he waits, and was it his imagination, or had it suddenly gotten very quiet...?

No, no – he was fine, and besides, he has come too far to turn back now. He maneuvers the last few gaps with uncharacteristic agility (leave it to Emil to reveal talent in a pinch), picks up his coat and boots without putting them on, and slips through mercifully quiet doors out into the cold night.

He quickly wraps himself up but leaves the coat open. The soldier in him insists on making a quick tour of the perimeter despite the reasonable assumption that trolls would not be active in temperatures this cold, though he does keep a close eye on the tank's door to make sure he hasn't been followed. Once he's made sure he was well and truly alone, Emil takes a seat, and...doesn't move, because the reason he is here is so dreadfully embarrassing that he can hardly admit to what he has come out here to do, let alone do it.

So he closes his eyes, and after some focused minutes manages to control his breathing. He listens to his body, and despite the doubts nagging away at his consciousness he can’t imagine that this is a problem that will go away on its own. Not without another embarrassing surprise when he wakes up in the morning, at least… So with little more than a sigh and one last, furtive glance, Emil determines that he’ll get this over with as quickly as possible. He removes his right glove, unzips his pants, and begins to lightly stroke himself.

The act was tarnished by guilt and shame, but relief and arousal quickly drown them out. Their close-quartered lifestyle meant that Emil hadn't been able to attend to this for...well, awhile. How long had they been gone, again?

But Emil didn't want to think about their mission, because that thought came dangerously close to his comrades, and he definitely didn't want to think of Mikkel right now. Or Tuuri, who felt strangely like a sister, or that childish Reynir. He thought warmly of Sigrun for a moment before banishing those thoughts too; it was too weird, thinking of the captain during this...

Shapely collar bones and a thin, graceful form come to mind unbidden, and Emil bites his lip. It still felt wrong, thinking of another person is such a base way, but Emil can't deny the slight thrill he feels as he thinks of Lalli.

Lalli. The Swede begins to stroke faster as heat starts to pool in his stomach. If the night scout had been here with him... Well, no, he doesn't want to what-if that particular scene.

But a little fantasizing couldn’t hurt. What if they bathed together privately...no, found a hot spring... Emil imagines the two of them entwined, floating in one of the amazing hot pools he's visited in Iceland as a child. With his eyes closed he can almost trick himself into imagining that the hands touching him were his hands, and that the heavy breathing echoing around him wasn't only his own. Lalli would lean in and whisper the Swede's name as they held each other, and Emil was already so close...

He hadn't thought to bring anything to clean up with (really, he hadn't thought that he'd be able to actually go through with it), so as Emil releases he is forced to clamp his hand over himself and ride it out. Caught up in that moment he lets out the tiniest moan, which nearly turns into a shout of surprise when it is answered by a breathy murmur.

So his eyes snap open, and to his complete horror there is Lalli himself standing only a short distance away. To make matters worse Emil is still holding himself, and Lalli's pale eyes follow with interest even as he turns his body away and cries out, “Stop!”

They hold that position for a moment, Lalli unreadable as always and Emil positively losing his mind because there is literally no way for him to talk his way out of this. His best friend-crush had caught him in the most compromising situation imaginable, and since he couldn't ask him not to he would definitely tell his cousin and Emil would never be able to look any of them in the face again... Their teamwork was doomed and the mission was ruined, and all because he couldn't control his stupid urges...

Emil wracks his brain for something, anything, to do, but his mind remains curiously blank. So without another sound or glance at Lalli, Emil walks a short distance into the woods, wipes his hand, tucks himself away, and marches into the cat-tank. After managing to step on Reynir (who, while grunting in pain, does not appear to wake up), the young cleanser climbs back into his bunk.

Had Lalli even understood what he'd seen? Emil hadn't thought of that before, and it is the first glimmer of hope he's had in this awful situation. Lalli's other-worldliness did make it seem somewhat possible that maybe, just maybe, he wasn't aware of sex or its expressions, so perhaps...

Oh, who was he kidding?

Emil lays wide awake and mortified for the next two hours.


	2. From (Scout)washer to Chef

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When morning comes, Emil does his best to avoid Lalli while obsessing over the 'incident' - Mikkel is displeased.

Lalli's morning returns had become the spark that started the crew's days. So when Emil snaps awake to the sounds of the others stirring, he immediately jumps into action (tripping Reynir as he tries to untangle from his blanket. Just how did that boy manage to always be in the way?).

Of course he hadn't forgotten what had happened only hours prior, but an early start meant that he could jump in and take up the tasks that Mikkel usually took care of. After all, if Emil was boiling the water and setting up breakfast, someone else would have to disinfect Lalli.

Mikkel, of course, notices this immediately, and he pauses to give the willfully oblivious Emil a long, significant look. As usual, no one pays this any attention, so he sighs, says nothing, and turns his attention to the immediately wary night scout.

\-----

Sigrun, Lalli, and Tuuri calmly discuss their available routes while breakfast is finished (with Mikkel's ever patient help). Emil's heart is beating a little too quickly as he listens; he was terrified that at any moment his name would be mentioned as Lalli told them everything he saw, either from spite or pure naivete...

As he lets Mikkel’s instructions on how to properly prepare breakfast pass through one ear and out the other (“You have to start boiling the vegetable first or we'll have to wait for them, like today.” and “You didn’t add nearly enough water, I’ve seen cement mixes more edible than this.”), Emil watches the three of them intently. Sigrun would ask a question, and her harsh Norwegian was rendered into soft, musical Finnish by Tuuri. Lalli, in what was turning out to often be the only time each day when they heard his voice, would answer back in monosyllables and occasional short answers. His attention did not waver from Tuuri; he barely glanced at Sigrun unless she inadvertently raised her voice. Despite the language barrier, the conversation appeared to flow smoothly, as something between trained professionals. 

As Tuuri takes a moment to clarify a question with Sigrun, Lalli suddenly glances in Emil's direction, and they lock eyes. For a moment Emil is paralyzed; he is trying to think of anything but last night, because that intense stare could probably see right through him and he definitely doesn't want Lalli to be reminded of anything, what-...

Tuuri says something to her cousin, and his attention snaps back to her. Emil takes the opportunity to look down and be extra diligent about finishing up his portion of the work. 

“Emil, have you heard anything I've said?” Mikkel asks, thickly layering on his 'patient' voice.

“Yes, yes, less water, I've got it!”

Mikkel gives him a long, flat look, and sighs. “Once again, from the beginning...”

Within minutes, Sigrun finishes her questions and thanks Lalli. The scout acknowledges her with a faint hand-wave as he lets his head drop tiredly, eyes no longer alert. Tuuri pats his back sympathetically, saying something quietly in Finnish. Emil is so engrossed in their exchange that he almost fails to notice Sigrun until she is bearing down on him.

“Alright, little chef, where is breakfast? Don’t tell me that he had to help you!” She demands, pointing jovially (and somewhat rudely) at Mikkel. 

Mikkel shrugs, as the only thing left to be done is pass out the bowls, which are brought in with the rest of the utensils by Reynir. “Breakfast is ready.”

Sigrun whoops and fills a bowl (her trust in Emil could have been a little too high). Tuuri also makes her way over, thanking them both cheerfully for the food. The Swede watches Lalli, head down and unmoving in the seat where he gave his report. 

Mikkel taps Emil on the shoulder, placing two bowls in his hands. “If you wouldn't mind making sure Lalli gets some, too.”

The Dane has no idea what is going on between those two at the moment, but after this morning he couldn't help chuckling to himself over Emil's look of dismay. He does feel slightly bad a moment later, but whatever it was would work itself out. Probably.

Emil approaches Lalli stiffly. When he is within an arm's length, he clears his throat, holding out the bowl of porridge. 

No response. “Lalli.” 

The scout brings his head up, slowly. He blinks and focuses in on Emil's face; the Swede could've sworn he saw his eyes flash. Recognition?

“Your food.” He says shortly, jiggling the vessel. The scout accepts it, but they continue to stare at one another. Emil can feel his face heating up, but just like last night, he is at a loss of what to do.

Suddenly, Lalli smiles and holds up his other hand and places one finger in front of his lips; the universal signal of silence. Then he takes one bite of his food, makes a disgusted face, and gets up to follow Tuuri. 

Emil watches him go, and for the first time that morning, he considers that maybe, this isn't the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I thought about that ending sentence for a while; it's so bad but hilarious at the same time. Would saying 'the end of the world' be offensive after is actually happens?
> 
> Anyway, this took awhile because I ended up writing two completely different versions. Fortunately the alternate sequence fits later in the story, so we'll get to it eventually. I'm still not sure where this is going so please don't expect too much. '3'
> 
> I'm sorry that these chapters are so short; to be honest I haven't written much in years and writing this feels like slowly stretching out those creative muscles again. Thank you so much for your encouragement! I'm looking forward to exploring Lalli's perspective, haha.


	3. Captain's Captive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sigrun and Emil head out with some new ground rules in place, what could go wrong? Since Emil can't stop thinking about his own problems, the answer is probably "a lot."

The team had departed in autumn, enduring unpredictable swings in temperature and mud as they made their way across the countryside. Emil, imagining days of not being damp or covered in muck or both, had thought that winter would actually be an improvement.

He was wrong. 

Oh, the temperature was a bit of a downer, sure; but their sponsors had ensured that at the very least they would have adequate clothing, and the cat-tank was turning out to be a reliable shelter. Besides, with the exception of Lalli, most of their jobs meant that they would be spending most of their time inside some form of shelter anyway.

No, the aspect of winter that made it truly miserable was that the days grew shorter as the ground froze solid. Light was a precious resource now that the world was locked in the grip of winter; they rose from sleep when it was still dark, and evening always seemed to come up on them far too early. 

The temperature has fallen to the point that ice and snow are a daily part of their lives, and the base crew was often occupied with ensuring their survival, let alone helping with book-hunting. A certain portion of time also had to be devoted to the 'official' side of their mission, given that they would all be in deep trouble if they returned to report before the Nordic Council with nothing to show for their mission but a tank full of contraband. Progress had slowed, and tension had been building between Sigrun and Mikkel over whether it was safe enough to return from their ventures after dark. After all, the book-hunting pair could only do so much in the eight-or-so hours of daylight, and sitting around at base camp was boring. 

Very, very boring.

So as soon as they've eaten and dressed (if breakfast takes a little longer than usual to chew through, Sigrun doesn't mention it), the pair head out as the sun peeks over the horizon. Most of the day passes uneventfully as they comb through building after large, ruinous building. As they move south and nearer to Copenhagen the amount of nests they come across seems to be increasing. 

Unfortunately, the process of salvaging books had also slowed down. 

After a few particularly bad hauls (so bad that they ended up using most of the 'books' as fire-food), Mikkel laid out some ground rules. All books must be examined before being moved, so as to avoid spending time and energy transporting trash. Certain topics and manuals were to be given top priority, written as a carefully curated list, and if the item in question even moderately resembled something called a 'tabloid' they were not to touch it under any circumstances. (A shame, really, given that they were among the few forms of printed media that Sigrun showed any interest in.) 

It doesn't take long before the fearless leader designates Emil as the one responsible for choosing the books worth taking, citing his academic background as justification. Really, this just translated to the two of them being split up with more frequency – something that Emil was definitely not comfortable with despite his rapidly developing skills as a warrior. Today, however, he doesn't protest when Sigrun proposes forging ahead into more rooms while he reads through titles. 

The day is largely unsuccessful, made evident by their nearly empty bags. Sigrun consults the map for their last stop, a hospital. Less than two hours of daylight remains.

“My cousin's friend's brother once told me that he saw a moving picture of a surgery from the time of the old-worlders. They put a woman that had, er, her leg cut off in this machine, and it put her back together like it had never happened! Or, was it her arm...? Well, anyway, the old-worlders had amazing medical technology, and if we can find out how I'm sure our bosses will be happy. We can make a killing!”

When the hospital comes into view it is massive, dark, and forbidding. The friendly paints of the last century have long since washed away to reveal a vast expanse bare, drab concrete. Many of its small windows have fallen out of their frames, and even at a distance he can tell that the interior promises to be cold and very, very dark. The sun seems to visibly sink lower. Two hours.

“Alright,” Emil affirms, lost in thought. 

\-----

“Sigrun, correct me if I'm wrong,” Mikkel begins, accepting a full case of books from Emil, “but I was sure that we had agreed you would be back at sundown. And yet, here you both are, wandering back into camp three hours later...and injured, no less.”

“Two and a half,” Sigrun growls, her left arm in a makeshift sling. She tosses her heavy bag to the ground with the other, wincing ever so slightly before continuing to defend herself. “And we didn't have a choice; we went inside and everything was fine, but then something fell over, the floor collapsed and we were separated-...”

Tuuri and Reynir gasp in horror as they stand nearby in their masks. Sigrun flashes a grin at them and strikes a pose, seemingly ready to begin reciting a Norwegian epic. “So there we were, deep in this smelly old hospital. This guy was down the hallway stuffing his bag with books while I checked things out up ahead. Not very far apart, but just trying to be quick, you know? So anyway, the floor suddenly gave out and I fell-...”

“Sigrun.” It comes off as more of a warning than a name. “Story time can wait. We are going to get you decontaminated right now and I am taking a look at that arm immediately after.”

\-----

Emil is unusually tired by the time they are decontaminated and fed. After their accident in the hospital he is no longer as concerned about last night, and tells himself fervently that it's behind him. All in all it has taken Emil less than twenty-four to fall back into his normal frame of mind. Well, almost normal – he interacts with the others as if nothing was wrong, but still can't quite bring himself to face Lalli with his usual enthusiasm. The scout senses this and gives him space, fueling his worrying thoughts even more. 

Emil decides to climb into his bunk before Lalli has even dressed to leave. 

\-----

In the dead of night, Emil wakes up yet again and, lacking any other sort of distraction, thinks about his friend.

No, not in that way – but rather about the fact that he had seen the scout last night at all. 

Actually, the scout had been the one to spot him – but at any rate, Lalli's missions to explore the general area and find workable routes meant that he must cross back to their camp many times during the night. It wasn't something Emil had thought about before, and it gives him an idea.

With what was turning into a familiar skill, the young man slips out of the cat-tank without disturbing the other occupants. Standing out in the frigid air, he surveys the area around their camp.

Emil isn't exactly sure what he wants to happen, but he has a feeling that if he's ever going to make progress with Lalli it will have to happen like this: privately, and with Lalli alert and in his element. There were times when an uncanny connection between them seemed to convey thoughts that words couldn't, and he was desperately hoping for one of those times now.

But it was cold out here, much too cold to stay in one place. The cleanser begins to circle the camp, occasionally calling Lalli's name. At first he was determined to stay until the scout appeared, but something about waiting for someone to walk out of the darkness, possibly for hours, made him feel foolish. With one last, hopeful glance around him, Emil returns to the cat-tank and tries his best to sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case you didn’t know - As I type this in May, the sun rose around 4:30 am and set at about 10 pm in Aalborg, Denmark. That’s nearly 17.5 hours of daylight! On the other hand, on December 15th it rises at 8:52 am and sets at 3:38 pm, leaving only about 6 hours and 45 minutes of daylight. That’s a lot of darkness.
> 
> Source: [here](http://www.timeanddate.com/sun/denmark/aalborg?month=12&year=201).
> 
> Also, the film that Sigrun is referring to is obviously fictional, but with time and a significant loss of information it would probably be pretty difficult to tell the difference. Just think, every crappy mockumentary or reality show ever made, or even just some really good special effects, possibly accepted as proof of how 'those old-worlders were crazy!' Yeesh! But hey, maybe it won't even take an apocalypse for that to happen...
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the chapter! I'm beginning to get an idea of where this is headed, eehehehe....


End file.
